


Memories of the Grey

by Sorshania



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorshania/pseuds/Sorshania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders never liked the Deep Roads. Not just because of all the dangers lurking and crawling in the dark but of the memories they bring back.</p>
<p>Memories of a happy time, before his merging with Justice.</p>
<p>Yet, when Hawke asked him to come along, Anders now faces the thing he had been running from: himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of the Grey

**Author's Note:**

> My first Dragon Age Fanfiction!!
> 
> I always wondered how Anders could go from considering the Wardens as his friends and family (in Awakenings) to complete hate in Dragon Age 2.
> 
> This story popped as answer. I hope you like it. :)

“All I'm saying is we should get your brother something nice once we get topside.” Hawke told Varric.  
“Don't worry Hawke, I already have very special plans for Bartrand.”  
“Great. Because I was thinking of some classy gifts like, 'I abandoned my brother in the Deep Roads and all I got was this lousy idol' embroidered on a very lovely surcoat. Or maybe an heraldry! Does your brother carry a shield? I bet it'd look great above the fireplace for everyone to see.”  
Varric chuckled, “I'm sure he'll love it.”

Anders shook his head, smiling. They had been walking for what felt like an eternity, leaving the cave where they fought the rock-wraith far behind them, with their pockets and bags full of stolen treasures. ('Our due rewards' as Hawke called them.) Varric had checked the maps the mage brought along and estimated it would take them about a week to simply reach the camp. Which was located a week away from the surface. In short, a two-weeks trek underground in one of the most dangerous places in Thedas. Piece of cake. If they survived, of course.

Anders glanced at the elf who walked beside him. Fenris was still favoring his right side. One of the golems they encountered on their way to the crypt had slipped past the warrior's defense and caught him hard on the side, sending him flying across the pathway. Hawke leaped, his enchanted daggers easily cutting through the junction between the creature's head and its body while Varric pined it with a flurry of arrows. The mage rushed to where the elf sat, holding his wounded side and trying to catch his breath. Sensing his approach, Fenris had growled, not bothering to look. “I'm fine, mage. Just out of breath.” Anders resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely. “I heard your ribs crack from the other side of the room, Fenris. Let me see.”

The elf weakly tried to bat the mage's hand away. “I said I'm fine.”  
“Don't be silly! It'll take only a minute.” Anders reached out again when a hand clamped on his wrist. Looking up, Anders saw Hawke towering above them. “I have a few poultices. They'll be enough if you don't care where they from or the gore on them.”  
“Keep them, you don't know when you might have a need of them. I know Fenris hates magic but that doesn't mean you should sacrifice valuable potions just because he's too stubborn!” Anders said.  
“You are aware that I'm sitting right here, don't you?”  
“You sure you're strong enough for it?” Hawke cut in, suddenly serious.  
“Enough to heal him, if it's what you're afraid of.”  
“Anders, I've seen you in battle and, thanks to my father, I do know when a mage is about to drop. I'd rather be down a few poultices than having to carry the two of you out of here.”

Hawke stopped chatting and looked around. They stood on top of a flight of stairs, carved in the wall. The light coming from Anders' staff reflected on the ice and quartz of the stalactites and illuminated the cavern. Below, the uneven ground at the end of the stairs gave way to geometric floor tiles and he could see sturdy house constructions, many still standing, around a large plaza. 

“What is this place?” he asked, his voice echoing around the empty space.  
“It looks like another thaig... but it wasn't on the maps Anders gave us.” Varric looked around.  
“We could check it out!” Hawke grinned, clearly excited by the idea, “I wonder how many of those thaigs are out there?”  
“No idea. They say the dwarves' empire used to span all across Thedas. Or, under it if you want to be technical. Most were lost during the First Blight. To my knowledge, Orzammar and Kal-Sharok are the only ones left.” Varric answered.  
“There is also Kal-Hirol. We discovered it when I was with the Wardens in Amaranthine and there was talk in Orzammar to conquer it back.” Anders said, joining them. “At any rate, I don't feel any presence from the darkspawns around, if you want to check it out.”

Hawke frowned. The mage was clearly tired, his face ashen in the harsh light. Standing behind the group, Fenris leaned a little against the wall, rubbing his side almost unconsciously. Hawke knew the elf wouldn't mention his injuries and Anders would keep going as long as Hawke needed. He shared a discreet look with Varric, and found the dwarf's expression matching his own. “Let's find a place to set up camp and rest. It has been a long day.” he said instead.

*********

Anders put down his bed roll and sat down, sighing. They set up camp beside one of the abandoned houses, huddled around the fire Varric lighted using smokeless coals he got from Orzammar. Sitting in front of him, Fenris had took his armor off and picked at the bandages covering his torso. Anders had checked the injury as soon as they finished the setup and, aside from the impressive bruises quickly healed by his magic, declared the elf to be fine. Fenris rolled his eyes but had endured the ministrations in silence, Hawke's glare preventing him from voicing any objection. Anders wisely chose not to comment. 

At the moment, their fearless leader was very busy checking the treasure they looted in the crypt. His child-like delight was catching and the mood of the group was relaxed, as relaxed as it could be in their situation. Varric sat beside him, oiling his crossbow and counting his remaining arrows, and answering Hawke's various questions about thaigs, dwarves, Deep Roads, ways of making Bartrand pay for his treason. Anders just stared at the fire. His mind kept returning to the last times he went into the Deep Roads and his last as a Warden.

Orzammar had organized a ceremony where the tablets the Warden-Commander brought back from Kal-Hirol were to be revealed and the names of the castless to be read and added to the Memories by the Shaperate. The Commander was invited as honored guest and, as usual, she decided to bring along those who had braved Kal-Hirol with her. She claimed it was not only proper but also, under no circumstances, she refused to suffer all this official nonsense alone. Anders had argue for days. He hated spiders. And darkspawns. Not to mention deep stalkers. Being underground made him nervous. He was positive Ser Pounce-a-lot would get lost. She merely told him to keep his breath for his spells. In a last effort, he claimed his lack of knowledge regarding dwarven politics would probably create a diplomatic incident and she could not afford to cut all ties with her hometown and her sister.

She just looked at him, amused by his statement. “Anders, I am a Duster, a brand, made living Paragon. I'll cause a stir in Orzammar just by being seen in the presence of the King. Worst, a Legionnaire will be with me, along with a surface dwarf whose ex-wife destroyed her whole house in her mad pursuit of a dream.”  
“Why do you need me for then?” he asked. She walked up to him and patted his arm – the higher she could reach without standing on her toes.  
“Because, I would be honored if you stood beside me at the ceremony.” And she had smiled. That one true smile he rarely saw, except when her lover was around, and he knew he just lost the argument.

They stayed in Orzammar for nearly a month before the Commander declared they were needed back in Vigil Keep. About a day-walk from home, they stopped to camp since the Commander insisted they needed to rest from all the pomp and ceremony of Orzammar. Anders remembered the clear night sky and the cool air of the forest. Sigrun was fascinated by the stars above them and the mage had been happy to show her all the constellations, telling her the stories behind them. Oghren had laughed, took out a bottle of mead from his pack and passed it around, asking Anders for more stories. Not that the mage could tell many more, a simple sip from Oghren's drink had numbed both his nose and tongue, to the enjoyment of his companions. He didn't remember much after it.

When he came back to his senses, Sigrun was still asleep while Oghren snored, sprawled on his bed roll. The sun wasn't very high in the sky but was blinding anyhow. He sat up, groaning and clutching his head. It felt as if it was on fire and he couldn't concentrate enough to get rid of this murderous headache. Feeling a hand on his shoulder and Anders opened his eyes to see a cup filled with liquid hovering in front of his nose. Maybe it was poison. Sweet poison to release him from this atrocious pain. He grabbed it and gulped it down. It simply was water. And yet nothing ever tasted as pure and sweet as spring water.

His stomach churned violently and Anders reached the bushes barely in time before throwing up. When it was over and he felt he could move without collapsing, he stood up and wiped his mouth across the back of his hand. The Commander had disappeared, leaving him in the company of the slumbering dwarves. Looking down at himself, the mage grimaced when he saw his robes had been sullied. Usually, he was more careful. Then again, he usually refrained to drink anything Oghren offered. Anders pressed his hand delicately against the side of his head in attempt to heal, or at least quiet down, the poundings of his headache. A flower fell on the ground. He picked up, frowning, and studied it. Where did it come from? Anders passed a hand through his hair and his eyes widening when more flowers fell on the ground. _What the hell happened last night?_

“You wanted to show us the rites of spring and fertility of your hometown.” The Commander walked back in the camp, her hair was still damp from her morning bath. She stared at him for a moment, frowning a little. “You might want to wash a bit before we head up to the Keep, your markings smudged off a little while you slept.”

Anders brushed a finger against his cheek and stared at its tip. It was greasy. And blue. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he gingerly plucked the front of his robes to check his torso. It was covered of more greasy, half-erased blue and yellows symbols. He groaned. “We stopped you before you took your pants off, if it's any consolation.” the Commander said. “Although, I must say you were quite a challenge. You insisted to do the rites the 'right way'.” The mage rushed to the lake, followed by the Commander's laughter.

It was his last happy memory of the Wardens.

When they arrived at the Keep, they learned that Audra had finally been able to bury her husband's body. The spirit of Justice that inhabited it had vanished. Meanwhile, Anders had received a letter from Karl saying his friend had been sent to Kirkwall to help their Circle. Dread filled the mage. Kirkwall had a reputation of being violent and very intolerant toward those with magical powers. Anders wasn't sure if he should trust those rumors but he couldn't let his friend face them alone. The spirit of Justice sought him out the following night. That's how Anders found himself standing in front of the Commander's office. Taking a deep breathe, he entered the room unannounced.

She stood by the window, watching the sunset while blowing smoke out of her pipe. The candles, on the table beside her favorite armchair, had been lit and the room basked in a soft warm light. Anders cleared his throat and she turned toward him, surprised. “Anders? What is it? Is everything alright?”  
“Yes... Yes, everything is fine. I-I simply wanted to ask you something.” Anders looked at the ground and shuffled his feet.  
“Yes?” she asked.  
“I... I must go... You remember when I told you I couldn't stand feeling trapped? I-I need to go.” Anders didn't know what to say, not wanting to talk about Karl. He might not know the Commander very well but he knew she'd want to help him and his friend. However, Wardens weren't allowed in the local politics. The Commander had already taken a huge risk by taking him in and later, by killing Rylock when the templar had attacked them in Amaranthine.

The shouting match between the Sister sent by the Chantry and the Warden-Commander afterward had been quite impressive. The priest claimed Anders was a murderer and deserved to be make Tranquil, while the Commander argued that the right of conscription had been approved by Queen Anora herself. If the Chantry couldn't keep its templars and its nose out of her business, she'd be happy to give both the Chantry and its knights a few pointers, at the tips of her daggers, in dwarven courtesy.

Anders stood beside the main door, right outside the main hall, wondering if it might be the right time to escape while everyone was busy. “It's been a while since I saw her getting worked up last this.” Someone said, right behind him. The mage turned around to see another man leaning against the opposite wall. Anders frowned a little, the man looked familiar. One of the templar knights maybe? The man had the whole warrior look and stance, down to the sword and shield strapped on his back. Few people could sneak up on mages without fear of being on the receiving end of a lighting bolt. Only the templars dared and trained to achieve it. 

“I am Alistair, Fauve's, I mean the Commander's fellow Warden.” the man said, nodding toward the closed door where angry shouts from the main hall still passed through. Anders blinked, he had met the man briefly before his Joining but he doubted he made much of an impression. The only time he saw the man, Alistair was been sent to Highever, leaving the Commander with the task of rebuilding the Ferelden's Wardens. He had been trained as a templar before being recruited, if Anders remembered correctly.

“This is not her first run in with the Chantry?” the mage asked, cautiously. After all, who knew if this ex-templar wasn't going to simply execute him on the spot. Rolan would. Anders never understood what went in the Commander's head when she accepted him amongst the Wardens' ranks. The ex-templar never made a secret of his hatred of apostates and of Anders more specifically. Alistair chuckled, “Can you believe she actually threatened the Revered Mother in Lothering? If Leliana hadn't step in, I'm sure it would have caused quite the incident.”

Anders wanted to ask who was this Leliana but the hall's door slammed open and the priest walked out. Alistair graciously nodded but the priest stormed pass in front of him without pause or acknowledgment. Alistair shook his head, “It's so good to see some things never change. Universal love and adoration do get boring after a while.”  
“I'm sorry, what?”

The warrior chuckled and quickly crossed the hallway to lay a hand on Anders' shoulder. Anders instinctively tensed, but Alistair simply squeezed his shoulder. “Don't worry Anders. She's loyal to those she considers friends.” And he let go and enter the main hall determined to calm the furiously cursing dwarf.

“Where would you go? If I remember correctly, outside the Wardens, you are still consider an apostate and I don't believe you want to go back to the Circle.” Anders blinked, brought back to the conversation at hand.  
“I cannot tell you, I don't want you to be involved. It's... personal.”

The Commander said nothing and kept on smoking. Anders guessed she was thinking over what he said, maybe trying to decipher what he couldn't say. He was ready for her arguments. He couldn't back down; Karl needed his help. “Alright... Rolan's team is headed to the Wending Woods to make sure it's still clear of darkspawns. I'll ask you to stay with them until you reach to crossroads to Amaranthine, in case they run into trouble. You'll be able to take a ship from there to wherever you need to be going.”

Anders blinked, surprised to see her agreeing so quickly. “Commander, I... Thank you.”  
“Fauve.”  
“Huh?”  
“It's my name.” she smiled and he thought she looked a little sad. “I'm no longer your Commander, Anders.”  
“Oh.” He pondered on this statement for a minute. Then, acting on an impulse, he took his earring off and pressed it in her hand. “Then, thank you... Fauve.”  
“ _Atrast tunsha, salroka._ Be safe.”

But it had been a lie, didn't it? Anders had given his consent to Justice and Rolan attacked him nearly as soon as they were out of the Keep's reach, claiming the Warden-Commander had ordered it so. Claiming the Wardens would suffer no abominations. Justice had taken control and destroyed them all. Templars and Wardens. Was it true? Was Rolan right? Had Fauve truly ordered his and Justice's destruction? Anders didn't know but he couldn't take the risk to turn back and ask, could he? So instead, he fled to Kirkwall, hiding amongst the refugees, trying to bring good and help to those who needed it. Until Hawke barged inside his clinic, asking for the Deep Roads map.

“I think if we keep to this road, we'll be back at the Primeval thaig in less than 3 days.” Varric's voice cut through his mind. “You sure about it?” Hawke asked, a bit dubious.  
“Trust me Hawke, I won't let us rot here.”  
“That's good for I don't believe darkspawns are that tasty. Beside, we still have to rub Bartrand's nose don't we? It's only the polite thing to do.” Hawke grinned.

Anders couldn't help it. He smiled, remembering the last time someone said nearly the exact same thing. Maybe this time, things won't be so bad.

**The End**


End file.
